Between

When I open my eyes, I’m greeted by the breaking dawn over fields rushing by my window. Orange and red reflects off of last night’s rain, which has pooled among the various open spaces, and glints into my bleary eyes. Totally confused, I don’t know the time, or even where I am anymore. Seeking a quick answer to one of those, I reach for my phone. 6:21am. For some reason it’s burned into my mind, like when you happen to glimpse something with more reality than its surroundings, like when you encounter destiny. “Maybe the train’s about to crash, and this’ll be the time at the heading of all the newspaper articles”, I think to myself. I quickly dismiss my strange and morbid pretensions at clairvoyance and begin beating my brain into coming up with a plan, as staring blankly at my passing surroundings didn’t seem to be cutting it for some reason. Get food, I think, that’s always a good first call. Getting food leads to getting up leads to the possibility of finding something worth doing once you’re out of bed. But I’m not in a bed. I’m sitting on a train bound for Chicago, and then to Los Angeles some two days after that, but for all that I have no idea what patch of flatland nowhere is playing across my window at this moment. “I am nowhere”, I think, before noting that all flatland nowheres seem to resemble central California, though the latter may not be as flat. With a shrug at my own obtuse musings, I stride down the middle of the sleeping car (it’s the only movement one can perform down the middle of a sleeping car), moving confidently toward food.
Relishing the prospect of an anonymous meal followed by more outward staring, I move into the dining car and wait to be acknowledged. It strikes me that it is in fact the anonymity of travel that appeals to me so much - the outward smile and the nonstop inner monologue crouching just behind. Perhaps my judgment of others stems from my desire to understand everyone around me, but at the same time I would not allow anyone the same chance willingly. No, I’m here to be an enigma, the nameless traveler. I’m here to be a ronin. Oh, how fucking cool. “Orange juice, please”. I’m soon joined by a middle-aged white couple, which, though it initially displeased me (all I had planned on up until this point was a quiet meal and some staring, so dealing with people at 6:30 in the morning was a drastic and dangerous deviation from what I had originally hoped to spend my morning doing), presented my first opportunity to delve into the opinions of others and try to fit them into my own worldview, like jigsaw pieces. This one might be “people on trains talk like this: ”. They seem like nice people, even if the women seems to be rather loudly unhappy about this or that, and they seem interested in my story. I enjoy speaking to them, and we hit quite a few topics of interest. Inquisitions into my major inevitably lead to a discussion of China, and I am more than happy to have that conversation with them. Then comes, equally inevitably, the discussion of America’s economic woes, and it’s here that I begin to pay very close attention. The women, whose name I have forgotten (Susan, maybe?) is wearing a shirt that depicts an eagle swooping down, talons first, with the words “Freedom Reigns” across the top. This shirt, and the notions it represents, have obviously made more of an impression on me than her name, and will likely endure in my memory as the strongest reminder of this breakfast encounter. Back to American economic woes - she says “God help us” a few times, because we don’t make anything in this country anymore. She says, “God help us, it’s one of the few things we can count on”, and the man nods. My turn. “What do you think we should do?”. “Cut everyone loose. Cut back the government and leave everything up to American ingenuity again. It’s worked before”. The food arrives, and they bow their heads.
Minutes later, I watch Bryan, Ohio pass beside my window.